Life
by Mornen
Summary: A collection of short stories from Feanor's POV about little Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Ambarussa. Told in no particular order with no particular point, I just wanted to make cute little Feanorian family stories. Complete.
1. Curufin

_Curufin_

* * *

><p>I can hear the click of his little black shoes as he dances on the flat stones. The sound is swift and rhythmic, like a hammer on an anvil, but gentler. He throws his head back as he spins around, his arms out to his sides, lifting up and down as he twirls; white sleeves flapping like gull's wings.<p>

'Father!' he cries, 'Father! Look how high I can jump!'

He jumps in the air, arching up towards the sky, and lands with a bow, his grey eyes shining.

'I can almost fly!'

He runs towards me, tugging his little black vest down to meet the top of his little black trousers, obviously quite pleased with himself.

'Yes, Curufinwë,' I answer, running my hand over his dark hair.

He smiles again, but soon a puzzled frown crosses his face. 'Why can I not fly, Father?'

He looks up at me, pleading for an answer, and I can tell that he in all certainty does not understand. Why should he not fly, like the birds, high in the sky far above? It has been so long since I also wondered the same thing, and he says it with such bewilderment that I almost laugh.

'Why can I not? I want to fly, Father.'

He waits for me to answer.

I open my lips to explain to him, to tell him of wings and air resistance and weight and skeletal structures, the science behind it all, but I do not; he is too young and eager to hear that yet. He will learn it later, in years to come, when he has grown taller and stronger, when he no longer falls asleep in my arms, his head buried against my shirt, sucking forgetfully at his knuckles; I will teach him all I know then.

'And so you shall,' I say, lifting him by his arms.

He seems so light as I draw him up, holding his little, wriggling body so high off the ground. I wonder if this is how I felt to my father. My Curufinwë, he looks so much like me. I kiss the tip of his ear and breathe him in. I can feel him under my hands, warm blood and strong bones. I hold him out from me.

He giggles as I sway him back and forth, whacking his heels together to the rhythm. I start to spin, and as I spin, faster and faster, he lifts up, out from me, cutting round me through the air. I hear his laughter, clear and giddy, and see his face, lashed by his soft black hair, full of joy. I spin still faster, raising my arms higher until they are straight out before me, and he flies at the ends of them, unable to contain his excitement.

'I am flying, Father!' he shrieks. 'I am flying!'

And I laugh with him.


	2. Maglor

_Maglor_

* * *

><p>He sits on the beach, his nimble fingers digging swiftly through the sand. His hair falls over his face as he crouches, barefoot, spreading the sand out with quick waves of his hand. I do not have a notion as to what he is doing. Perhaps he is attempting to write. Nay, the flat palm is too quick, too fast, not the painstaking, careful finger of a beginning writer. Still, the gentle dunes that he has made must mean something to him.<p>

'What are you making?' I call to him, rising to view his work more carefully. I still can see nothing in it; there is no pattern, no order. 'What is this?'

He looks up at me, brushing his dark bangs of his face with a dirty hand; he smiles in delight and eagerly grabs great fistfuls of the white sand.

'It is too dry here, love,' I tell him as he attempts to pile one fistful of sand upon the other. 'It has to be wetter to make a palace.' I lift him up and carry him to the damp sand lower on the shore that the waves at times cover. 'Here,' I say, setting him down, 'you can build great cities.'

I sit down a little ways from him, to give him room to work. The air is warm and the ocean laps lazily upon the shore. I pick up a small gem lying beside me and turn it over in my hand; it flashes blue. There are many such gems scattered about among the shells and smooth pebbles. I show it to him. 'When you have finished making your palace, you can decorate it with gems and shells such as this. It will be a work marvelous to behold.'

He takes the jewel and studies it solemnly for a few moments, and places it down beside him. His near ceaseless humming begins again as he plummets his hands deep into the cool sand.

I wait, and soon he forms a small mound that could very well be the foundation of a building. 'Very good, love,' I say.

He turns back to me, smiling, his eyes shining from my approval. I smile back at him, and he pats the mound carefully into a smooth circle.

'Do you need help?' I ask.

He does not answer me right away; he smiles down at his mound, and stands up, his knees bobbing to his own rhythm. The sand clings to his legs and arms, glittering in the light; it is dark between his toes, damp and heavy. He turns to me with a smile of delight, and jumps onto the mound as hard as he possibly can; the sand flies about him and splatters down.

'Kano!' I cry in surprise. 'What are you doing?'

'It makes a funny noise,' he says, jumping again. He drops back to his knees on the ruined foundation, and hits the wet sand loudly with his open palms, humming along to the quick rhythm.

'Do you not want to make a palace, Kano?' I coax, forming a quick tower in the wet sand.

He studies it seriously for a few moments, and shakes his head shyly. 'No.'

I sigh and crouch back on my heels, watching him as he starts to sing a song, his hands slapping the sand with glee.

'Ai, Kano,' I whisper, 'I should have known.'


	3. Caranthir

_Caranthir_

* * *

><p>He has the sheets held up to his nose and is watching my intently with his dark grey eyes. I can see them shift ever so slightly as I step about his room, blowing out all but one of the candles, and shelving the book I had been reading from. He looks away when I turn to him, rolling over to one side and drawing the sheet over his dark hair.<p>

I creep back over the floor to him and give him a surprise tickle in the ribs – an act that would have produced a shriek of laughter from my three older sons, but he just whimpers and turns away.

I do not let this detour me, and I sit down beside him, tickling his chin through the soft white linen.

His arm jerks away from mine, but I am sure that I heard a muffled laugh from somewhere in those folds of cloth.

'Ai, I am lonely,' I say out loud to the walls. 'There is no one here to talk to.'

Another muffled laugh can be heard from the bed.

'I think that I shall just lie down and go to sleep,' I conclude, starting to lower myself on top of him.

He moves away from me, but I hold him fast with one arm, bending over him carefully so as not to crush him. I can feel him quaking with suppressed laughter.

'Good-night, walls,' I whisper, putting my head down on top of his covered one.

The laughter cannot be held back now, and it erupts in my ear. He squirms a little away from me and pulls the sheet off his face; it is flushed, and he is gasping for breath between his giggles.

'What is so terribly funny?' I ask with mock sternness. 'And where did you come from?'

'You are so ridiculous, Father,' he says with a shake off his head. 'You knew that I was there, why did you talk to the walls?'

'Why did you not stop me from making a fool of myself?' I counter.

He crinkles his nose for an answer and turns once more away. 'You could never be a fool, Father,' he whispers.

I take him into my arms and hold him for a moment; he does not pull away this time, nor does he turn to me.

'Neither could you,' I say.

He nods at this and turns to wrap his arms around my neck and kiss me seriously. 'Good-night, Father,' he says.

'Good-night, little one.' I answer and tuck him into bed with a kiss on the forehead.

He looks up at me from under his dark lashes, his eyes unreadable. 'I love you,' he whispers.

I smile down at him. 'I love you too.' I blow out the last candle and walk away, leaving him in the darkness.


	4. Celegorm

_Celegorm_

* * *

><p>'Ha!' I know that he has pounced before I even look over.<p>

'Ah! Tyelkormo, get off me!' Makalaurë wails, trying to fend off the wicked little creature wrapping itself around him.

I sigh and put down the book that I am working on and cross the room to where my two youngest sons are sprawled out across the floor.

'Turko, Kano, what did I say about fighting?'

'It is not my fault, Father. He won't leave me alone,' Káno whimpers.

I sigh again, for disturbances such as this are an all too common part of my life, and pick Turko up. 'Why don't you go see your mother, Kano?' I suggest.

He nods quickly. 'I think I will.' He shoots one last troubled look at Turko and hurries away.

I look down at the boy who has somehow managed in these past few moments to tangle himself up in the laces of my shirt and sigh once more. 'What did I say about attacking Káno when he was trying to study?'

'That it is rude and inconsiderate,' Turko answers sweetly, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes.

I bite back the next sigh and set him down on the cool marble of the floor. 'Why don't you go play outside?'

'I have no one to play with,' he whines.

'Why can't you play with yourself?' I ask.

'If I play with myself, there is no one to ambush,' he explains matter-of-factly, with a little pout.

'No one to ambush…' I can't hide the sigh this time. 'Does Maitimo like to be ambushed?' I ask hopefully.

'He's busy,' he says sourly.

'Well then, I suppose you will just have to find another game to play.' I run my hand through his silky hair and lift him up for a kiss.

He kisses me back with a little sigh, and I set him down again.

'Off you go.' I say, patting him on the bottom.

He pads out of the house.

I smile with satisfaction and curl up once more with my book. Time passes peacefully until I hear a little voice wining in my ear. 'Father, I'm bored.'

My head jerks up in alarm. It's Tyelkormo again.

'Didn't you have fun outside?'

'No.'

This time I try desperately not to sigh. It's no use. 'Maybe your mother wants to play.'

'She doesn't.'

I look about for someone to pin on him, when suddenly, I have another one of my alarmingly frequent brilliant ideas. 'I've got it!' I cry.

He looks up hopefully. 'What?'

'You hide, and I seek.'

His eyes light up. 'Really?'

'Yes.'

He hugs me tightly and runs away. 'Don't peek, Father!'

'I won't,' I assure him as I start to count.

I can hear him run off, and, with a smile, I pick my book up again. It really does help to be a genius.

Long, blissful, undisturbed minutes trickle away. And then.

'I found you, Father!'

Arms and legs tangle about me as I am hit by an over-excited Turko so hard that I lose my breath.

'No, no, I was supposed to find you…'

He ignores me. 'I found you! I found you!' he cries, covering my face and neck with warm, wet kisses.

'Yes, Turko, you found me,' I agree with a resigned sigh; the book will have to wait.


	5. Amras

_Amras_

* * *

><p>He rests in my arms, so small and frail. His grey eyes search my face, curious and fascinated. I gaze into their depths, and I seem to be looking into the quiet sea. Cinnamon lashes flutter tiredly as I breathe in his gentle, clean scent; they brush my cheek as I bend to kiss him, letting my lips linger on the softness of my child's skin. I breathe in and out against his face, timing my breathing with his, so that, between breaths, there is a sacred silence in which our hearts beat together.<p>

Slowly, he reaches up his little hand and grasps a lock of my black hair, drawing me closer to him. I kiss his hand and the hair in it, shifting him gently so that his tiny body rest securely against my strong chest, and caress the red hair shimmering on his own head. He sighs contentedly against my neck, and his breath is soft and warm and perfect.


	6. Amrod

_Amrod_

* * *

><p>He is watching me with a frightened, mischievous grin, half-hidden by the hand he holds up over his face. His teeth nibble at his lip as I approach him, and he giggles with an almost contagious nervousness, shrinking back against the wall.<p>

'Ambarussa,' I say slowly, folding my arms so that he knows he is in some degree of trouble. 'What did you do with my ring?'

He shrugs wide-eyed, and draws his knees up to his chest, hugging them tightly.

'I know you took it, Pityo,' I continue. 'What did you do with it?'

His eyes just grow wider, and he takes his hand off his face and holds both his arms up to me longingly, as if there is no possible way that he could have taken and done anything with my ring, even if he had been the only one around before it and he had disappeared.

'Your mother is going to be very angry with me if I come home without my wedding ring,' I tell him, lifting him up and holding him firmly against me.

'She won't be too angry, Father,' he disagrees, trying to rub himself against me appealingly to make amends for wrong deeds not done.

'Yes, she will,' I say, although in all probability Nerdanel will just look disappointed and say something grave and ominous and wise. 'She will be very angry and tell me that I am careless. Now, what did you do with it?'

He takes my hand in his, and traces the pale band around my finger where my ring should be. His short nails have most certainly been recently bitten, and I rub my finger against one that has been cut down to the quick. He winces, and I kiss it gently, nearly forgetting that I am supposed to be angry with him. 'Oh, Pityo,' I lament, 'nails are not for biting. Why do you have to put everything you encounter in your mouth?'

His looks up at me innocently and shrugs again, popping the sore finger into his mouth and sucking at it tenderly.

'Why don't you learn a lesson from your brother Telvo? He doesn't bite his nails, now does he?'

'No,' he says, 'but he does chew his hair.' He looks slightly smug, and I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling.

'Does he? I shall have to speak to him about that. But you have gotten me off the subject. We were talking about my wedding ring. What did you do with it?' I tilt his little chin up, but he avoids my eyes and lets out another giggle. 'No, we aren't getting away from it this time, Pityo. I need to know.'

'Will you be angry?' he asks pitifully, with the most appealing sigh a child his age can muster.

'Yes, I will be intolerably and undoubtedly _furious_,' I declare.

For some reason, this makes him giggle again, and he ducks his head down, letting his hair fall over his face.

'Well, my child? What did _you_ do with _my_ wedding ring?'

He looks up at me, brushing the hair off his face with a wisp of a smile. He flutters his lashes momentarily and gives the faintest of shrugs. 'Father,' he says, 'I'm sorry, but I swallowed it.'


	7. Maedhros

_Maedhros_

* * *

><p>He is squatting in the shallow tub; his small hands, pressed down hard on the copper bottom, hold him up. His hair falls around his face in half-tangled waves, and he smiles at his reflection in the water. I kneel beside the basin and run my fingers through the warm water. The ripples run neatly trough the tub, and the waves lap at his legs and arms. He looks up at me, and I brush his reddish hair off his white face. A few strands cling stubbornly to my fingers, gleaming copper in the candle light. His hair reminds me of his mother. It is the same color and weight, silky yet not, like a rose petal caught between my fingers.<p>

He laughs when he notices that my hand has been ensnared, and his laugh is high and gentle with an undertone of warmth, like a light wind that cares little for where it is going. He reaches his hands up, shifting himself to kneeling, and pulls the hair free of my hand. He studies it a moment, warm and unkempt in his fist, before smoothing it back behind his ear and shaking his head at me.

He looks like his mother when he shakes his head. He has that half-scolding, half-amused look she gets when I have done something particularly foolish, such as ending a project that I should have finished, crumbling my plans and throwing them with disgust into the fire. He looks like her then just now, shaking his head as if he has some secret wisdom hidden inside of him. He smiles again, and takes a lock of my black hair in his hand. He holds it carefully, as if he is studying it.

'It is not the same color,' I whisper, more to myself than to him. 'Your hair is red like the fire; mine is black like the ash.'

He looks back up at me, cocking his head to one side inquisitively. I do not explain myself, but dip my hand into the water and splash it lovingly against his back. He pools the water in his palms and lets it run down his body in silence. I do not know why he is being so quiet, normally he does not stop talking, asking me questions, telling me every possible thing that he has learned over the entire course of his life. His lips are set in a line, though. Firm and serious, they frown slightly on occasion. He must be thinking.

I draw the water over him again; it is sweet and warm, and the scent drains on me, making me drowsy. The candles burn slowly, their lights flickering softly through the room. Orange is reflected against everything, and shines back at me in the clear grey eyes of my child.

He helps me bathe him, his hands joining mine as they run across his body. He watches my hands move, as if he were learning their every secret as they caress his wet skin. I wonder what secrets they hold that he will learn. His hands too are agile and crafted for work. I can tell when I hold them, and they close about my fingers. There is strength and skill in him.

I lift him from the tub, wrapping about him a clean, white towel. He clings to me as I hold him, almost afraid that I will drop him. His legs encircle my waist, and he places his chin on my shoulder. His wet hair rubs against my cheek as I carry him carefully to his room. I set him on his bed and gently dry his skin with the towel, rubbing the dear creases of his body. I blot his hair and lift a brush to it, smoothing it and setting it as he sits, flicking the edges of his towel.

'What is troubling you, dearest?' I ask him when I have finished the brushing, taking him once again into my arms and drawing him against my chest.

He tucks his head under my chin and makes no reply, just breathes his warm breath against my neck, muffling himself.

I draw his head out and tilt his chin up, forcing him to look at me. His eyes grow wide as they meet mine, and he makes a little noise that is soon lost in the great expanse of is room.

'Come,' I say, 'you must tell me.'

He settles his head back against me, and frowns thoughtfully for a moment. 'Father,' he says very quietly. 'What does it mean that Mother is expecting a child?'

I start for a moment. Surely he knew. Nerdanel has been expecting our next child for quite some time now, but from the look on his face, I am quite certain that he has not the slightest idea.

'It means that she is pregnant. There is a new life inside of her that will soon come forth. A new person will walk upon this land; one very dear to us.' I twist his hair around my fingers and kiss the top of his head. 'It means that you will have a brother.'

He nods seriously, and a frown that troubles me creeps onto his lips. 'I thought as much,' he says.

'Then why are you so upset , dearest?' I ask. 'It should be a time of joy for you.'

He looks up at me again, and his eyes seem somehow a reflection of my father's. 'You hate your brothers.'

'I...' The room is empty for a moment, and the silence seems to want to destroy us. I close my eyes. 'They are my half-brothers,' I say. 'It is different.'

'Why?'

'We have a different mother. Theirs is Indis; she is not my mother. It is different. You will love your brother.'

He shakes his head again, that firm shake like Nerdanel's. 'I do not understand,' he says. 'Why does it make a difference? Why cannot you love them? Your father does. They are your kin.'

I shake my head, and my lips and hands feel tight. 'No, Nelyo. It is not the same. They are not lawfully his children. They...' I do not have the heart to tell my child, as young as he is, the truth. That the only reason they were born was because my mother died. He is not old enough to know that yet.

'Father,' he says softly. 'Why do you not love them? I do not understand.'

I hold him closer to me, so close that I can feel his bones hard beneath my fingers. 'No, Nelyo, you do not understand.' I kiss his head firmly. 'But in time, you will.'


End file.
